Validation
by Mstudify
Summary: "The greatest power of all the known universes needed some validation, and you fit the criteria." And thus, I began my journey into the Mass Effect universe. Truthfully, I'll probably be dead in an hour, but on the off chance I don't... Well, I guess will have to find out.
1. Operation: Spectral Sentinel

_Operation: Spectral Sentinel_

_ Location: Eden Prime_

_Subject: [Classified]_

_Time: [Classified]_

As the Normandy, the goddamn Normandy! Swung around for what certainly looked like a text book drop, I final accepted the fact I was well and truly screwed.

Sure, I had managed to come this far without significantly destroying the cannon. Sure, I had managed to hide an armada of ships and weapons that defied the laws of this universe so significantly I would be tried for sorcery if caught. But none of that mattered now.

No, what matter now was that Commander Shepard was landing less than a football field away from me and all my hard work was in jeopardy. Running really wasn't an option, the sensors on the Normandy and even Shepard's personal armor would have picked up my life signs by now.

I didn't have a chance at pulling off the "lost farmboy" look either, considering what I was wearing. And that was if I managed to obscure my face from one of the few people who… I was indebted too. In every sense of the word, I owed her.

So, I turned around. Activating my tactical cloak, I ducked past the Geth Recon Drones that would soon end the life of one Corporal Jenkins, undetected. The human side of me almost paused, wanting to save the doomed man, but that was a risk I was simply not ready to take. To much interference, and cannon could be so screwed that Shepard would lose the war. At least, that's what I told my self.

So, I sat down in a clearing, checking my weapon as I did so. It wouldn't be long now.

And I thought I could sit this one out…

* * *

_Operation: Accounting Debacle _

_Location: Earth_

_Subject: [Classified]_

_Time: November 29, 2013_

"No, no, no. You have to place the money in the cash-credit column, not the cash- credit. The guy removed money from the company, you see?"

No, I really didn't. And the fact that Steven Stealman, what a stupid name, was taking money from his equally stupid pool cleaning business gave me a headache. Hey, don't get me wrong, Stevan could be a nice guy. But the fact is I have to read about the fact he took money from his own company, and that means paperwork. Paperwork means headaches. Headaches mean I will be in pain for the remainder of third period accounting and possibly fourth period math. Whoop- de- do.

"Ohh, okay, I got yeah" I lied "so put the $20 in this column?"

My savior, junior Ralph Phillips, cuffed me in the back. "God dude, you can be so stupid sometimes. You're lucky I'm around for you to copy off of." God, he had the most annoying grin. Damn egotistical jock, but hey, coping was easier than working. Plus, a friend is a friend, not matter how stupid he is. I learned that one the hard way.

I was about to shoot back a snappy retort about his moms intelligence quotient but the overly long bell blared through the school, causing me to jump in surprise. Ralph started laughing just as Mrs. Lantross started yelling at us about assignment 12-5 is due on Monday as my class streamed into the over packed hallway, desperately trying to escape her wrath. Ralph and I followed, talking about our weekend plans.

Separating from Ralph, I pushed my way to my locker, trying to avoid getting trampled by my fellow classmates. I always felt like a cow ready to be slaughtered in these situations, but you learn to live with it.

I almost made it.

I think it was my show lace, but I ended up tripping into the nearest wall. Throwing my arms in front of me, I braced for the shock of hitting a brick wall with my face.

And felt a force pull me right back. "Gotcha, friend." The owner of the hand that had grabbed my backpack said.

Common courtesy instilled in my since childhood kicked in. "Thanks buddy." I said as I turned around. To say he was distinctive was an understatement. First, he was wearing suit in the middle of a high school in Farmville. Second, he appeared to be late twenties. Third, he was radiating confidence and people never _radiate_ things, especial from my point of view.

"Might want to watch wear you step next time, my friend." He said with a chuckle.

"Ohhh… yem yea, thanks again. Are you… a speaker or something?"

Another chuckle. "No my friend. I'm simply checking on old friends and meeting new acquaintances."

Well, that's not creepy. Plus I was running late for math. "Well, have a good day." And then I high tailed it down the now empty hallway. I managed to banish mister creepy from my mind by the time I got to math class, but not the feeling of his eyes watching me as I left that hallway.

Sleep eluded me that night. Every time I closed my eyes I got a sadistic dream about Mrs. Lantross accusing me of being a 'degenerate to society'. By 1:00 A.M. I decide that staring at the white walls of my room was better than reliving that again. By 1:20 I decide that playing Angry Birds was much more interesting, which lead to me googling random movie quotes by 2:00.

I final fell asleep at 3:00, never guessing that it would be the last time I saw home in a long, long time.


	2. Operation: Point Insertion

_Operation: Point Insertion _

_Location: [Unknown]_

_Subject: [Classified]_

_Time: [Unknown]_

Had I known the gravity of the situation I had been unwittingly thrown into, my first thoughts would have been much more observant and motivating. However, I instead decided to focus on the fact that my bed had become inexplicably hard. That one I managed to chalk up to my imagination.

What I could not account for was the fact I could not feel or move my arms. That woke me up very fast and adrenaline only resulted in me rocking wildly as I tried to understand what was happening to me. Total animal panic took over me and I only managed to flop over the side of the bed and land on the floor with a painful crash.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, my friend! Calm down, it's okay. You're safe." A vaguely familiar voice said as it lifted me back onto the bed. The dark room obscured my sight of him, but I had the feeling I knew him as he continued to spout calming words at me.

"Who?... Where am I?" was all I managed to gasp out. But I had managed to calm down slightly, comforted by the fact I was not alone. The sudden flash of lights blinded me once again, and the metal urge to throw my arms in front of my face did nothing. After what seemed an eternity, the light became less blinding, and I could observer my company.

"You are on Ares, an Alliance space station currently on high alert due to the presence of three Batarian cruisers who may or may not be hijacked by pirates."

My brain shut down after the words space station faster than a fire in a rainstorm. All logic dictated that a space station was simply not possible, so I ignored the possibility and determined that my associate was insane. That was weird; I was talking to a delusional person. Funny.

"So, buddy, do you like, take pills every once and awhile. Get put in strait jackets before…" my hesitant conversation was destroyed when the man turned and faced me. It was that creepy guy from my school! Oh god, I was dealing with a stalker crazy man. God help me.

"You don't believe me do you, friend." Suit replied. "Understandable, and one of the reasons you were chosen." His dark face had a stupid grin despite the fact I had just insulted him, and he seemed relatively at ease as he continued to move my arms into the classic soldier position. I would have resisted, but my arms wouldn't move.

"Chosen for what?"

"Well, the greatest power of all the known universes needed some validation, and you fit the criteria. You should be honored, my friend."

"I was chosen to have my arms paralyzed? Jeez, I'm glad."

"Don't speak the lord's name in vain." Oh, God. I would have face palmed so hard if I could. "But the arms are temporary, but your mission isn't. So take notes. Your job is to survive this cycle anyway you can, period. You keep this…" he picked up a Zero Halliburton case, shacking it in my face "… and its contents safe at any cost, or you will lose everything."

I eyed the case curiously, my momentary skepticism forgotten. The Suit spoke so firmly and with such convection I couldn't help but believe him, and I was at a time in my life where I was just begging to believe in something. A combination of intelligence and idleness will do that to you.

"What's in the box?" I asked as he set it down on my lap.

"The code is 777-777. Find out yourself." With a snap of his fingers, I felt my arms again. That caused a great amount of relief, and then fear. This…creature could control my ability to move, why wouldn't I be scared? But my curiosity overrode my hesitancy, and I entered the numbers on the cases digital display.

"You know, 7 isn't the most original… of…" The case swung open to me reviling its contents. All misgivings vanished once I saw the contents; I was in the Mass Effect universe. There were starships, aliens, and space marines. The apocalypse was coming, and I had to live through it. The contents of the case told me this. The case also validated the extreme power of the being sitting at the foot off my bed, if he could give me _this_ he was not of my understanding.

"You understand, friend?"

"Yes sir."

"Good, I will be your mission control and support. The Boss has high hopes for this mission, so don't hesitate to call if you need help… or a friend." He placed his hand on my shoulder, and I couldn't help but try to draw strength from the grip. I was alone in an unfamiliar world, and the fact that someone was there to help meant everything to me.

"Thank you, sir."

He chuckled. "Don't worry kid. I convinced the Boss to give you some help, and his promises are gold plated." His head shot towards the door. "You have a visitor. Don't hesitate to call, friend. Oh, and call me Michael."

"Yes sir." He nodded once, than disappeared as if he never existed.

* * *

What did 'give you some help' mean? I barely had time to think about that before the futuristic space doors slide aside to admit a surprisingly normal human male. He was wearing cloths similar to the ones the both Doctors Michel and Chakwas wore in game, so I could only assume he was a Doctor too. He was looking at one of those clip board thingy's, think their call Datapads, which gave me time to snap my case shut and hold it against my chest like a two year old with a teddy bear.

The snap caused him to look up. "Ahh, your back." He said. "… and you already managed to find your briefcase. You should thank me for that, security had a fit when they couldn't get it open, but I said what was the harm." He said as he started making notes on the Datapad. "Never the less, you recovered amicably."

"Recovered from what?" That caused a reaction. The good doctor's head shot up and he rapidly approached the bed I was sleep, and he drew one of those annoying flashlight things from his pocket and started waving it around.

"What's the last thing you remember?" I did not like the panic building in his voice. Or the stupid flashlight.

Right now though, I had three options. Tell the truth, I remember going to sleep in 21st century Earth, excited about the fact that I was going to see a movie the next day. Second, lie and say I remember everything, hoping I could use charisma to piece together a convincing past. Or third, fake amnesia.

Option one was a trip to the loony bin. Two was a stretch even for my egotistical view of my charm. Therefore…

"Walking up five minutes ago."

"Before that?"

"Absolutely nothing." A string of swear words erupted from the doctor as he abandon his flashlight and almost ran to a terminal on the other side of the room. He pounded on it with a surprising amount of force for his relatively old age. Final, after several minutes of silence only broken with the occasional swear word, he turned to me.

"Do you remember your name, at least?" he asked, rather dejectedly.

"Yes, Ark Thompson." There was a bit of pride in that name. I was proud of my accomplishments with it.

"No, it's not." And he left as quietly and quickly as he had come. I was left with only my thoughts and briefcase for a long time to come.

I didn't sleep again that night. The bed was rock solid, the silence was deafening, and the lights from a random terminal kept me alert.

I passed the time looking at the contents of the case, simultaneously cursing and praising it. I was, in effect, chained to it. But, at the same time, I was entering a state complete separate from that of all sentient beings in existence because of it.

I was still looking into the case when Admiral Steven Hackett walked into the room 10 hours later.


	3. Operation: The Bourne Effect

_Operation: The Bourne Effect_

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: [Unknown +11 Hours since Point Insertion]_

The two parties simply stated at each other. Normally, I would have bowed to the authority of the Admiral standing before me, but I literally had nothing to lose. No family, no friends, no status to speak of. Plus, the contents of the case gave me a great responsibility, one that almost surpassed the ones of the Admiral in my opinion.

So neither of use flinched as we simply observed each other. He looked younger than his game appearances, which gave me a very general scale of where I was in the Mass Effect time line. He had less… shininess on his blue uniform too. Suddenly, he spoke.

"Grab your bag and follow me."

With not many options, I snapped the case shut and jumped off the bed, slight dizzy from getting up to fast. It wasn't until we were walking down a featureless metallic gray hallway with countless other doors leading to similar medical rooms such as mine, I noticed something was up. Hackett seemed to be taller than me. I mean he's good three feet taller than me, and I normal about a six foot even. Everything else about me seems smaller too. What was going on?

Admiral Hackett suddenly froze, mid step. An approaching doctor and opening door paused too. My head was about to explode as a result of so many laws of physics being broken before someone tapping my shoulder caused me to turn. It was Michael.

"You called?" He said with a giant smile.

"Yes sir. Why am I like… 4 foot tall?" I didn't even bother asking about the time stop, best to role with it at this point.

"Cause your about 10 years old, my friend."

"What! Why?"

"The body your mind was placed in was already in existence, and its actions were instrumental to setting up the challenges you are facing now. A direct drop into the galaxy would not have set you on the path the Boss wants you to go on, so your avatar was created for you to assume control over."

Ugh, so many Meta concepts set up. Best to roll with it I suppose.

"Okay then, what did I do to deserve Admiral Hackett appearing at my doorstep?"

A smile. "You'll find out, sooner rather than later." Oh God, that could be horrible. "Also, check the case again when you get the chance, it has some support." Then he did the classic derez from Tron and disappeared, letting the world slowly turn back to normal time instead of a frozen one.

* * *

I had to run to keep up with Hackett's thundering walk, my head spinning from the revaluations I was facing.

It took at least an hour to get where ever Hackett was taking me, which included several stairs and a rather boring elevator ride, all of which was conducted in total silence. Still, it was entertaining. Hackett had to grab me when I stopped to stare at a window that showed the stars in such glory I thought it impossible to understand. And he even slowed down as I was entranced as we walked through what appeared to be a market, with hundreds of unique and exciting stores.

After a while; however, we stumbled upon something familiar. It was the opening location of Mass Effect 3, or rather appeared to be. There were rooms with what appeared to be military housing, a carbon copy of what Shepard was living in during Mass Effect 3. My hunch was only confirmed when Alliance personal entered and exited the apartments.

After even more walking (how did the Admiral do it? He's old.) we reached the end of our journey. A door slide open, and Hackett usher me into what appeared to be his leaving quarters. It was very Spartan, with the standard large desk, terminal, and bedroom.

"Sit." He said as he gestured to the chair in front of the desk. After doing what I assume was locking the door, he sat on the other side of the table, and we once again commenced our staring contest. I couldn't help but wonder what I looked like. Different body, I could be a total Casanova for all I know.

"You truly remember nothing son?"

"Not a thing, sir."

"Damn. I'm going to have to tell a lot of good people some bad news."

That was interesting, did I have a family? "What news, sir?" The Admiral sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes as if he had a headache.

"Son, what I'm about to tell you is Classified. Do you know what that means?"

"Yes, sir"

"Good. About three months ago, a group of people knows as Spec Ops Team Delta went missing. One month ago, they returned with heavy casualties and a young child they had met with them. The child was in critical condition due to a type of poison. He had helped the team escape from a prison on a remote world called Aratoht, somehow gaining access to keycodes and weapons."

"And that was me?" Hackett nodded.

"And how is that bad news?" I couldn't help but ask.

"You have no identity. Since Team Delta's my troops, I ran your genetic information in every available database and the majority of… unavailable ones. Nothing came up. The boys from Delta really wanted a happy ending for you kid. And they won't get it."

That shut me up. I mean, how was I supposed to respond to that? I felt… guilty. I had never held a very high opinion of myself, due to nobody's fault but my own. The fact that I had… stolen another's victory didn't seem right. Just another in a long list of inadequacies that seemed to guide my life.

For his part, the Admiral seemed lost as well. I guess he didn't have experience with children, as his truth had been rather blunt and rather hard to understand, even if I was mentally 19. But he did do something right. He got up while I was trapped in my self-hatred and returned with a glass of water.

It was a small gesture, but I helped. I managed to refocus my energy on the task, which was surviving to the end of the future Reaper war. I unconsciously gripped my suitcase tightly.

"So, what happens now, sir?"

"Standard procedure dictates you will be released to foster care, likely an orphanage on Earth with occasional visits to a psychologist to confront any lingering issues." Okay, shit. This is bad. Basically, I have been given the Earthborn starter. Problem is however, I'm not Shepard. I doubt I could cut it in some underfunded orphanage in the bowels of a megacity. Shepard _had_ to join a gang to survive, for Christ sake!

"Are there any other options?" I said a bit too quickly. Hackett seemed to notice and raised an eyebrow curiously.

"There are few. You have been exposed to classified information and need to be watched accordingly." Oh good. G-men were stalking me.

"Can't I just stay here?" I was grasping at straws by this point.

"Only one other child is aboard this station, and that is not her choice. You wouldn't want to stay here."

"Sir, please. I'll take that option." I would much rather stay at my house and watch movies, but that wasn't an option. I was stuck in space, a couple of years before an apocalypse; I'll take what I can get.

"You have nowhere to stay."

"I would stay in the streets."

"Damn, you really don't want to go to a foster home."

"No, sir." Hackett just sighed heavily. I doubt he was used to dealing with those who didn't have military ranks.

"You can stay here for the night, by then, I'll have found you a different location." Wow. That shouldn't have worked. I mean, his an admiral, I should be out on the streets in a second. Perhaps someone up tops on my side after all.

"Thank you, sir. You won't regret it."

* * *

**Thank You For Reading!**

**This is a personal S.O.S from the author. In all honesty, I have had little experience with dialogue and characters in general so I would be indebt to you, the viewer, if you gave me some idea of the quality of this so far. I understand some of you won't wish to do that, which is entirely find and justified, but I can't fix the script if I don't know what is wrong.**

**Thanks for Reading... again**

**With the utmost respect,**

**Mstudify**


	4. Operation: New Friends

_Operation: New Friends_

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: _

_2167 CE/ 3 months post-Bourne Effect/ 16 years before Eden Prime_

Turns out, a different location was harder to discover than anticipated. I had remained in Hackett's care, and had adapted surprisingly well. Every day, Hackett would be gone by the time I had woken up on the couch, which was around 7:00. I would then have some sort of asari cereal, which I avoided for hours on the account that it was _alien_ food.

Then, I would wander the station. It was possibly one of the greatest experiences of my life, and still was. I would spend hours staring at something mundane as a vending machine, entranced by its… futureness? Then, I would use one of the credit chit's Hackett left on the coffee table, and buy lunch. Then I would stare at some other future thing for a while, before returning to Hackett's apartment by 6:00.

Hackett would roll in by 10:00, usually grumbling about the 'damn politicians', and watch the news. I watch intently as well, not only the news but how he worked various things in his apartment. I had learned how to operate the T.V. like thing, but not the microwave, nor the personal terminal. I had a feeling Hackett knew, as he would sometimes operate things very carefully, angling them in my direction. I was grateful. By 11:00, I was asleep and the whole thing repeated.

Thankfully, the plumbing technology of the 22nd century was not all that much different, or there could have been a problem. Clothing was also taken care of, thanks once again to Hackett and the wonders of mail order. Would it still be called mail order? I don't care, but the 'authentic early 21st century recreation' was comfy.

With the essentials taken care off, I had investigated the supposed support that was promised by Michael. Sure enough, next to the… object, was a black square. I assumed that it was a flash drive type thing, but due to the fact that I had no knowledge of the current technology, I could not use it. And asking Hackett was suicide, to many questions and not enough suitable answers.

So, for three months, I waited. Watching and learning. The thought that I could simply _ask_ someone to tech me basic technology stuff never crossed my mind, I was used to understanding. And if I didn't, I would learn, alone. I guess it was the last shred of pride I could hold onto.

Pride did nothing to help what happened next, however…

* * *

It was a totally normal Tuesday. Scratch that, it was an almost normal Tuesday, I had run out of cereal, and thus ate dry instead of soggy cereal. However, besides this, it was a totally normal day. I had lunch, and had stared at a toy store this time. What was most surprising was that they had a miniature ship display similar to the ones that Commander Shepard would have later in life.

Regardless, I returned to walking the hallways. I had not gone more than three steps down the corridor in between the toy shop and a small food store when I heard to most obnoxious banging coming from directly above me. Seriously, it was like someone was trying to climb through a vent using magnets as climbing gear.

Then I looked up just in time to see the cheap ceiling tile collapse as a _fucking vent_ fell and hit the ground with a bang. I had the common sense to jump back and mercifully dodge any of the debris, but the cloud of dust caused me a coughing fit and my eyes water fiercely. I approached the debris, wondering as to the cause of the collapse.

What happened next was… unexpected.

A _girl_ wiggled out of the vent, coughing as well. She looked a little older than me, with bright red hair and a youthful face. She wore white hoody and khaki pants, each pocket bulging with… something. She saw me too, gave me one scan that seemed to pierce my very soul, and simply held her hand out to me. I grabbed her, and helped her up, patting on her back to help the coughing.

When the coughing finally stopped, she gave me the smallest of smiles and held out her hand to shake. She had a very firm grip, and was about to say something when to fire alarm went off.

"Oh fuck, we gotta go!" Then she took off running, nearly yanking my damn arm out of my socket as she dragged me to another vent, kicking the cover off with way to much precision.

"Are you sure…"

"Shut UP, Rook! Get in the fucking vent and stay quiet!" Damn, she was convincing. A thus began a panicky crawl through a bunch of dusty, spider infested vents that was only compounded by the fact that Red (unoriginal name, I know) would occasionally grab my ankle and drag me into a different vent. It was a miracle that I had no claustrophobia, or I would have been cationic for days.

When we finally kicked down another vent that end the rabbit hole trip, I stood, basking in the freedom that standing afforded me… and promptly fell on my face due to my numb knees.

"Lesson number 1, Rook, never stand up to fast."

"If you call me Rook, I'm going to call you 'soulless redhead' till you stop." Yeah, I'm already arguing with the first person I might be able to talk to on this tub. Good start Ark,

"Hey, you owe me from saving you from the station guards, so I will call you whatever I damn well please… Rook."

"Saved me? You nearly _landed_ on me! And you owe me for digging you out of there!"

"First of, there was no digging. Secondly, you shouldn't have been standing there. And I outrank you, Rook."

"Outrank me? When did this happen? You're like... 10 years old"

"For your information, I am 13, and you are out ranked since you decide to enroll in the Terran Collective. A collective I command." The Terrans? From Starcraft?

"What's the Terran Collective?"

"A currently small force of highly trained individuals who stop evil as it occurs in this galaxy!" She said with an unusually high amount of charisma and faith, she had probably rehearsed it.

"And when did I sign up for the 'Terran Collective'?"

"When you gave me this!" She said opening her closed fist, revealing my flash drive. My hands started scraping at my neck in a futile act of denial. I had been paranoid about losing the drive, so I had spent hours triple and quadruple tying knots. It logically should not have fallen… Somehow I had a feeling my 'mission control' was interfering.

"Hey, give that back!" I said, struggling to my feet. She only stepped away, a mischievous smile on her face.

Long story short, I chased the soulless redhead around the station for about two hours, expending about every swear word that my public high school upbringing had taught me. When I collapsed near the food court, Red dragged me over to a poor McDonalds knock off and made me buy her two happy meals on the account of the fact she was my commanding officer.

I didn't mind. It was… nice. To talk and be spoken to. Even if she was pushy. Eventually, we wound he way to her barracks, were we watched some mindless cartoon chatting all the while. I thought I had finally made a friend.

Then, Captain Hannah Shepard stormed into the living room and screamed. "Mackenzie Meetra Shepard, you are grounded!" It was then I accept that I was well and truly screwed.

* * *

**Truth be told, I almost feel... dirty about this chapter. I mean, ****of course**** I couldn't leave the station and ****of course**** I would run into Shepard. It still has a valid in story reason, but still.**

**(Small Rant here)**

**I took the opportunity in this chapter to confront something that always bothered me about self inserts, the technological aspect. Seriously, person is dropped into the Universe and five seconds latter they are hack into Geth like a seasoned pro. Or have a Datapad with them that operates the exact same as a smart phone.**

**For context, you have jumped around 170 years into the future. 170 years ago, Texas wasn't a state, Edger Allen Poe had just released the Raven, and America still had slavery. And your just going to take that in ****_stride_****?**

**No, Just no.**

**(End of Rant.)**

**Sorry about that.**

**I would like to sincerely thank the reviewers XRaiderV1, , and especially ResurgentClone for the advice and guidance. Without them, I would be lost.**


	5. Operation: Covering Bases

_Operation: Covering Bases_

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: 2167 CE/ 15 minutes post- New Friends/ 16 years before Eden Prime_

By the time I returned home (As close as I could get in this universe), it was 10:45 and the soup had grown cold. Oddly, Hackett was simply sitting on the other end of the table, his own food untouched. When I opened the door, reviling myself to be covered in dirt and other nasty things, he seemed able to eat again.

By the time I had made myself decent and had seated myself at the table, the Admiral had finished his meal and simply observed me. The atypical behavior startled me, but I was hungry, and the food was pretty good, so I ate.

"You were 45 minutes late." The sudden words delivered in a matter similar to that of a drill sergeant caused me to jump. I thought I would be used to it by now, but I guess not.

"I apologize, sir. It won't happen again." Truth be told, an angry Hackett was the least of my worries. The effects of 10 hours of hanging around with Shepard could have _huge_ consequences. I mean, the subconscious lessons learned today could fester for 16 years and result in the complete destruction of this galaxy, and therefore me!

Don't believe me? Let's break it down. Shepard falls from the vent. I don't exist, so nobody helps her up. She gets taken by the station security. At station security, a visiting XO named David Anderson talks to her, inspiring her to clean up her act. She then enlists in the Alliance due to the morals Anderson helped her develop. She has a long military career…You know the rest.

So right now, we have no vent, no Anderson, and therefore a totally unpredictable future that could result in a Reaper frying my skin off. Good job Ark, you idiot.

"Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack, friend." The voice from behind me was most defiantly welcome by this point, as was the frozen expression on Hackett's. I turned to revile Micheal flipping through the channels on the HoloTV(?), wearing a white T-shirt and jeans this time. "Do you seriously think the Boss placed you on the same station as Shepard with the knowledge that contact would change the future? You're smarter than that, friend."

A just sighed. "I don't think so, sir. Not anymore." The experience of not being able to operate a microwave was… humbling, to say the least.

"You were chosen. A combination of all factors was considered. The Boss would not give you this job if you were underqualified, my friend."

"Speaking of qualifications, what was up with my 'support?'" I only got a giant smile as he disappeared once more. I turned back to my soup, enjoying my meal as I waited for the time freeze to stop. It was nice to know that my friendship with Red wasn't going to blow up the universe. The little things, you know.

"Why?" Hackett asked, ending my musings abruptly. I took me a few seconds to remember what we were talking about, but when I did, told him a very abbreviate story about my meeting of Shepard. I edited out the illegal bits.

"Miss Shepard. I was wondering when you ran into her. I suggest keeping close to her, you could be a… calming influence on her." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, the first smile I had ever seen him do something remotely happy based.

It made me feel good… not sure why.

* * *

"This is a nice dream." I said to myself. I was sitting in my living room, my living room in 2014, and was enjoying a rerun of Seinfeld. It was the episode where George went to Cuba to trade baseball players for the Yankees. My father, bald glory and all, was playing solitaire on his computer as my mother appeared to be making herself a cup of coffee. I had swim practice in about two hours, and then I would meet with Ralph to see a movie. I was having so much fun, just sitting there, at my home.

Then, as all dreams did, it ended. Strangely though, instead of my normal awaking which revolved around my alarm clock slowing getting louder and louder until I woke up. This time it was an Earthquake.

"Hey Rook! Rook, wake up! We're going to be late!" Okay, that defiantly wasn't a standard wake up. Then it clicked. My eyes flew open just in time to hit the floor that was supposed to be two feet lower than my bed-couch.

"Ow, sorry Rook." Hands dragged me up to sitting position as I tried to get my bearings. I appeared to be in Hackett's apartment, in my standard white pajamas with… Shepard kneeling in front of me. This is either a very weird dream or Shepard had somehow gotten into my (Hackett's really) apartment.

"Red, how the hell did you get into my apartment?" By this point she was searching through her pockets only to produce two candy bars, offering one to me. The other she promptly shoved into her mouth.

"Ush uaesed da aifduaks."

"Don't talk with your month full. Also, why are you eating candy at?" I glanced at the clock, only to rub my eyes, hoping I was seeing the clock wrong. " 5:30!".

She swallowed nosily. "Because I had no breakfast. Also…" She held up a very familiar Zero Halliburton case. "why was this in your vent?". That got me up fast. I snatched the case from her with unusual speed, kicking it under the couch.

"That is nothing. But don't touch it!" Her face had lit up; I had undoubtedly provided her with some great mystery to solve. God help me. "Also, let's get you some breakfast. And no, a candy bar does not count a breakfast." I set out two bowls and began to fill them with cereal.

While eating, she told me why she had woken me up, via sneaking through my vent. Apparently, she had 'weapons education' every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 7:00. Truth be told, I was a little concerned with exposing a 13 year old to military grade firearms, but I didn't grow up in a military or hunting family. Until now, I suppose.

I was actually extremely hesitant. From what I could gather, this was a family friend of the Shepard's who Captain Shepard had convinced to give lessons to her daughter. It was… kind intrusive on my part. However, Red had one stubborn streak and I was once again dragged through the space station to a firing range.

Thankfully, I was introduced to… a nobody. I was getting sick of meeting people who defined the Mass Effect universe, and it was nice to meet another person who did not define the games. Anyway, Sergeant York was more than happy to accept me into the fold. After an exhaustive review of a basic pistol, the Hahne-Kedar 1, we inserted hearing protection and moved to a firing range.

After watching York nail a target several times with ease, both Red and I stepped up to the plate. I hesitated for a few seconds, watching the future savior of the universe score several respectable hits. She was on her way to being a weapons expert, all right.

Things went wrong for me immediately, but not the way I expected. I expected to pick up the pistol and be lucky if I managed to pull the trigger completely. But what happens instead scares me. My hands move without the permission of my brain and when they return to my control the target has several near perfect hits.

Puzzled, I look at the pistol and the target. In neither of my conscious lives had I handled a weapon. I repeated the procedure several times before I was convinced I had not somehow dreaming. By 3:00, practice had ended with York calling both of us 'gifted individuals' and 'the best trainees in years'. Shepard had won the shooting contest, but only by a slim margin.

It was… haunting. Usually, a person has a basic understanding of what their capable of and what skills they had mastered. The fact that I did not have this made even myself an enigma without an answer, an enigma that scared me.

"Wow Rook. You did really well, why didn't you tell me you had training?" She had that light in her eye. She was eccentric in most respect, but she was smart. I had a feeling any answer I gave her would reveal one small piece of the puzzle that she wished to solve. That puzzle was me.

"I'm a man of many sides…_Meetra_." I simply laughed as she started beating on my arm. I might just be able to make it through this.

* * *

**Any thoughts?**

**Also, if you figure out what Meetra is a reference too, I will be happy.**


	6. Operation: Eradicating Masquerades

_Operation: Eradicating Masquerades _

_Location: Ares Space Station_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Unknown]_

_Time: __2168 CE/ 16 months post- Covering Bases/ 15 years before Eden Prime_

The package felt heavy under my arm, but after almost two years of carrying that damn case around like my life depended on it (cause it DID), it wasn't too bad. Truth be told, I was more concerned about the seemingly random instructions I had been given to get to Shepard's birthday party. I had finally learned to use my Omni-tool's after all this time, with Reds help of course, and the GPS function was taking me directly to what looked like a maintenance hatch.

It was par for the course by this point, but still. When I had my first 15 birthday, I had a cake and a party. If she really wanted to crawl through vents… again, more power to her. I planned to use her gift as hostage for a simi-normal birthday… and my support. She had become quiet taken with the little black box and was hording it.

This would usually be a great sign of friendship and yada yada. However, that box had my support, my only advantage in a galaxy soon to be overrun by giant robot tentacle monsters. It was ironic, by the time I learned how access the flash drive, it was out of my grasp. It didn't help that all my blackmail material was usually used to get the case back. Shepard would steal that randomly as well and I had a suspicion she was trying every combination from 000-000 to 999-999 to find out was inside.

My Omni-tool beeped twice, signifying I had made it to my destination. I looked around the lonely corridor, wondering if I was the only one invited.

"Ark… Help." Warning bells range as Reds voice immerged from behind me. She never called me by my real name. When I turned however, it became clear why. She was glowing blue, with the familiar flames licking off her body. She was a biotic. The fact that I knew this was coming didn't make it easier on her… or me.

The thing was, this wasn't a game mechanic now. It was a… gift that resulted in children such as Kaiden Alenko being abandoned by their parents to corporate entities that then exploited them. I needed to calm Red down, or she could hurt herself.

"Hey Red, you seem rather… blue." Lame jokes might help distract her.

"Ark! Stop screwing around and help me stop" she waved her arms "this!" Or not.

"Okay, okay! I need you to take several deep breaths. You a currently manifesting biotic's." I winced, telling her that might have inflamed the situation. Thankfully, she listened to the first part.

"Good, now, I want you to sit down. I'm going to sit next to you, okay." I was basically treating this as a panic attack. She followed the first part once again, but would scuttle away each time I approached her; roaring about how she was dangerous.

"Red, you're not dangerous, you're my friend. And I'm going to give you your birthday present." I slid the package to her with a kick, hoping this would work. Thankfully, she undid the warping with shaking hands to revile the gift.

"Ha… I figured you would find out." It was a model of SSV Everest, one of the Alliance's Dreadnoughts. She was crazy about ship models, that was why she had been in the vents the day I met her, she was trying to see the top of the model ships on display in the toy store.

As she gazed at the small ship, her biotic's slowly flickered to nothingness. I sat next to her, wondering how I had managed to screw up my life so much I ended up here. But the smiling kid beside me made up for it, just a little.

I took a small breath, and began preparing my friend for a life that was forever different from the last. That, I had plenty of experience with.

* * *

_Time: __2168 CE/ 17 months post- Covering Bases/ 15 years before Eden Prime_

Truth be told, I was rather proud of the way I had handled the biotic situation. After calming Red down, I managed to convince her that telling her mother was the best course of action. The conversation was going swimmingly until the Captain suggest enrolling her in a civilian course run by a group called Conatix Industries, which had Alliance support.

For those of you not aware, this is the program Alenko was enrolled in. The program run by an ex-turian mercenary that broke a young Girls arm for simply wanting to get a glass of water. The same program that put the dangerous L2 biotic implants in children, implants that caused such things as insanity, crippling pain, and headaches. I reacted… poorly. I couldn't allow my friend to be exposed to that, and the fact that cannon stated Shepard got the L3 was little comfort.

In true Deus Ex Machinma style, however, news that Alenko had killed the instructor blasted over the news a couple days later. Captain Shepard discontinued that idea. Red truly dodged a bullet there. Things settled back into their old rotation, only difference was that Red would glow blue when upset or angry, which worked for me.

I should have known the universe would take it all away.

I had just left the public extranet terminal, where I had taken a test for my online education courses. The courses… infuriated me. I was an 18 year old with decent intellect forced into an eighth grade curriculum, and the fact I knew half the stuff from history class was wrong didn't help.

The Prothean's created jack, and the Reapers were the true result of their demise. I had put that on a test answer once and had been assigned a remedial course as a result. Stupid idiots.

As I went to drop my backpack off at my apartment, I fell. This time however, I ran into someone.

"Ohh… sorry, sir." And then I looked up. It wore the face of a man, the uniform of an Alliance Major, but he couldn't have been either of those. The area around him seemed to glow with red malice and his cybernetic eyes glared… hungrily.

I once though people didn't radiate things, but I meet three people who did. Michael radiated confidence, Red radiated leadership, and this thing radiated wrath. And it had an iron grip on my shoulder as it stared at me.

"Don't be sorry, we've been looking for you, excursor." That sent bad vibes down my back. You don't want people like… it, looking for you. Ever. And what the hell did excursor mean?

"Ummm… I think you have me confused with someone else."

"No, no, excursor. You are exactly what we want." The grip was joined by one from his escort, who seemed to materialize out of thin air. They had nothing on Michael, however.

"Hey, man, what's the big…" I got a cuff to the back of the head that stunned me, ending my tirade. I was never in a fight before, so the fact that someone had clobbered the back of my head threw me off. I was more or less dragged through the station that had become my home, but nobody seemed to notice or care the state of my duress.

I managed to return to my senses as we entered one of the VIP shuttle bay at the top of the station. I reacted on instinct, shaking my arm lose and delivering on punch to the goons face. If the universe was on my side, the goon would have had a glass jaw and I have grabbed his gun as he went down. Using my skills, I would shoot the creature on my left and run to tell security. A few bad dreams, but I would be fine.

Reality ensued. The goon saw the punch coming, and rolled his head to limit the damage, like a profession solder would. He then used one of the most basic self-defense moves, tripping me and using my arm to roll me. With my face and arms immobilized, a strong right hook ended the fight. It was in the monsters favor.

As the warm blood streamed downed my face from my nose, I had just enough time to wonder if it was broken before the monster produced a syringe from his coat pocket, flicking it theatrically.

"Now, now, Mr. Broodston. I told you not to damage the excursor." The needled was stabbed into my neck as I struggled to get free, to no avail. My vision blurred as my heartbeat became unbearably loud. My arms dropped comically to my side as all my strength left me, and the voices of the monster and his goon became distorted.

I felt my eyes close, and my last thought was of a brilliant sunset, a sight I had once ignored at home.

It wasn't fair. Not at all.

* * *

**Honestly, I felt fun time with Red was a getting dull. **

**So I took on a task I'm not sure I'm a good enough writer to write... mental anguish and torture. Yea, happy times are not ahead. Also, despite my best intentions, I ended up writing in an opposite to Michael and the Boss. I hope it doesn't blow up in my face.**

**Question Time:**

**XRaiderV1: Nah, I was going for muscle memory. From they guys life I took over when I entered the new world. Thanks for the Review!**

**Michae1ange1o: Remember, the briefcase is randomly hidden. Not carried around. On the credit chit thing, Mass Effect is _very_ vague on how they work. I'm not sure if they can contain information like a USB, which I need for the story. Fun fact, I was originally going to use a Chit but... ^. Thanks for the Review!**

**DarthXayri/****Michae1ange1o**: I am very happy you got the reference, its nice to know that people can catch obscure references I though only I would get. 

**Thank you all for reading. Truth be told, the timing on this chapter feels a little wonky. but being this is a self-insert, I feel you might want game material and not necessary my stuff. **

**Please wish me luck... sorry I made you read so much author notes. :(**


	7. Operation: Brick Wall

_Operation: Brick Walls _

_Location: [Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ [Classified]/ [Classified]_

_Time: _

_[Unknown]_

For the second time in recent memory, a needle was stabbed into my neck, this time injecting liquid energy into my bloodstream. The previously blurry room came into sharp focus as I felt cold medal cut into my wrists, an empty silver table sitting in front of me. I naturally started to struggle against the restraints, only to find my legs and wrists tied to a skeletal chair. The chair was, of course, bolted to the floor.

There was a presence, just beyond the range of the single light situated above me. It was human, or human shaped, wearing dark clothes as it seemed to examine something in the darkness.

"You are going to answer all my questions with complete honesty and totality; otherwise, you are going to experience a great deal of… unpleasantness." His voice sounded like acid eating through my ears, drawing the syllables out in a manner so… inhuman that I thought I might have been wrong with my initial assessment.

"Where is your homeworld?"

"I… what?" The effect of my answer was felt immediately. The quietest of a buzz was the only warning, as pain shot through every nerve of my body. I didn't resist as my head shot back and an animalistic scream issued forth, only to be amplified by the small chamber. My skin was on fire, my brain an unrecognizable quivering mass of jelly. I lost control of my body, convulsing widely as the pain gushed into my muscles like a wave.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it ended. My body tried desperately to fold into itself, to hide from the pain. The chains stopped that, leaving me to pathetically stare at the ground, torso forced forward in an attempt to get into the fetal position.

"Where is your homeworld?" the man said, voice slipping into my ear like a snake. I couldn't decide if the shaking was from the voice, or the pain, but it was likely a combination of both.

"E…Earth." My voice was almost indecipherable from the pain, and the spasms cause my teeth to clatter loudly upon themselves.

"Lying will be of little use to you here." The buzz sounded again, and I felt the pain began. It was so old and familiar, but the intensity was blinded. I bit my tongue, hard, but he pain was miniscule to what I was feeling. It seemed to last forever, stabbing daggers into my head. Then it ended.

I had just enough time to turn to the side as my stomach emptied its contents on the ground. The acid mixed with the blood from my tongue to form a disgusting paste that lapped upon the seat.

"This can stop any time you want it too, Mr. Thompson. Or perhaps I should say James Ford, the last name you so effortlessly cast-off. It matters little what you choose to call yourself, but do answer the question. Where is your homeplanet?"

It was at that moment I realized no answer I could give would be enough. He wanted a star cluster, a solar system, some location with tangible evidence that I knew would never exist. The pain and the realization crash down upon me like a brick, and my hope was extinguished.

With the last of my strength, I dragged my head up, wanting to see at least some humanity in this world of pain. All I saw was the dark suit of the man, his face obscure. But one thing did stand out. He had a pin on the lapel of his jacket, which burned with an aura all too similar to that of the man who brought me here.

The symbol on the jacket was burned into my mind with more intensity than any branding iron could. A downward triangle, only to be broken by a circle in the middle. They were blood red, a symbol of wrath. I knew that symbol was connected to the man who brought me here on some instinctual level. It was my end.

A new wave of spasms ended my inspection, and I resigned myself to my fate. I realized I was crying, the salty substance streaming down my face as the pain started to overtake me.

"Pleases… why?"

My torturer had a smile in his voice as he replied. "Why, prisoner 24601, don't you know? You're an alien spy, and this is simply what happens to all spies."

The buzzing started in my head, warning of the oncoming pain. By the time it reached me, however, I was far beyond its reach in the dark void of oblivion.

* * *

_Subject: [Classified]/ The Technician _

The smile slipped away just as soon as it had come, a deep frown replacing it. He would have to request extra payment for this subject; it was not his usual fare. With that thought in mind, he began to 'clean up' his workstation. A single flick of his omni-tool returned illumination to the dark room, and he turned to gather his tools from a table previously hidden the darkness.

The remote; however, was very carefully placed in a padded container that the Director had provided for him. It was a shame really; the technology that went into the remote and the thing it controlled would have greatly easy future endeavors. But a contract was a contract, and the credits were worth it.

He was half-way to the door before he remembered the other asset that the Director had given him. A short call later, a paramedic team rushed in, attempting to run several tests with the various tools they had brought. Each one gave the classic red 'error' reading. The medics, there disappointment palpable, loaded the subject onto a stretcher and chartered him back to the labs. More experiments, no doubt.

He appreciated the scientists, however. They were seekers of truth, like him. Their codes were just slightly different.

The Director was waiting just outside the door, his piercing eyes already digging into the technician. Perhaps it was the cybernetics in them, or the glow this man seemed to give, but he just felt _wrong_. The interrogator had work with many people of many backgrounds, but this was the first that was simply… disquieting.

"The subject is not what you implied. He is a special circumstance, and unique circumstances result in an increase of my fee."

He didn't even blink. "You read the contract, this was covered within it. Take care where you tread, scrtator, you are neither indispensable nor faultless." He was almost tempted to laugh, despite the Directors stature. He was the best at what he did, and he knew it. The Director could not get rid of him as well, it was already far too late in the game for that.

"Regardless, consider my proposal. Have you managed to gleam any information I can us in our sessions?" Dangerous ground here, but if the employer wanted the job done right, he needed every ounce of information on the… thing.

"Every scan we take of him destroys our equipment. Every attempt to open the case or access the information stored on his data disk has proved equally worthless. It is better than I could have hoped." With the majority of his clients, the Technician would have simply ignored the last part as some little eccentricity, but this man not his usual patrons.

"Better?"

"It is proof, scrtator, proof. Proof that he is not human and not of human origins. With that established, we can turn to… more fruitful pursuits." Not for the first time, The Technician wondered who he was working for. This organization had given him remarkably little to identify themselves, besides the pin they insisted he wore. The emblem upon it was unfamiliar and an extranet search produced even less.

The fact that they were humans who had captured an alien who certainly _looked_ remarkably human lead him to suspect that they were some black ops organization working for the Alliance. They were equipped enough to be. Elaborate bases and top of the line technology such as this was not cheap, yet they used them with abandon.

"If you truly want information, I will require leverage. A single scan from almost three years ago and some surveillance footage hardly counts as such." His employers' eyes glowed threating.

"You were hired to follow your orders, scrtator, not request new ones. You will proceed with the instructions given and find the information on our friend." Sensing his dismissal, the Technician left. He returned to his quarters, had a decent meal with a wonderfully aged wine, and fell asleep without a doubt in his mind.

* * *

**Before any of you ask, no they are not Cerberus. The emblem I describe bares no similarities with the Cerberus logo. That, for your information, does not mean they are the good guys. I had the main character tortured for god's sake. **

**That sequence, in retrospect, was actually very fun to write. Trying new things and researching was fun, at least. And now I sound like a sadist, good job me.**

XRaiderV1: **Thanks for the review. I was really tempted to make them Cerberus, but that seemed to… cliché.**

Cthulujr: **Thanks for the review! I actually kinda am worried about going this far back; it has a lot of empty canvas that needs to be filled till I can return to the familiar world of the games.**

Michae1ange1o: **Thanks for the review! I find your logic impeccable. Nostalgically speaking, it was extremely funny on my first ME2 play through when mega-millionaire Hock had a credit worth maybe ten dollars in his couch cushions. Good Times**

**Thank You all for reading and until next time.**

**Mstudify Out.**


	8. Operation: Breaking Defenses

_Operation: Breaking Defenses_

_Location: [Interrogation Chamber, Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: __[Unknown]_

Hello, my name is James Ford. Is it? Yes! No. Surely. I was born around 11 years ago. Was he? Possibly, no probably. He truly doesn't know, maybe it was 10, maybe it was 13. He was raised a slave in Batarian space. What, slave? Yes a slave. He killed something? An animal… no a plant? Actually, it was his master. Master? Yes, his master. Punishment, master was a politician. Prison? Most definitely. Didn't like prison, he was alone. Made some friends, yes I did. Said they were Alliance. What's an Alliance? Didn't matter, stole for them. Escaped, yes I did. Hurt, yes. Went to sleep.

His name was James Ford and I had killed him.

Hello, my name is Prisoner 24601. 45 days, I think. That's how old I am anyway. Neither father nor mother. I just happened, had to help Ark. Ark is in bad shape, I think. He misses home horribly and dreams of it every night. He misses his new home too, Hackett's respect and Red's friendship. Poor Ark, I needed to help him with the pain. They asked so many questions, he can't answer any of them. Or won't. I'm proud of him for that, so we take turns with the pain. I exist to help Ark.

His name was Prisoner 24601 and I created him.

Hello, my name is Ark Thompson. I was born January 13, 1996 in the United States. I had a very loving family and a very normal life. Until two years ago, when the Boss needed some validation and sent me into the universe of Mass Effect. It was, and still is, worth the struggle to prove him right. I had friends and supervisors, and they helped me on my quest. Survive the Reaper invasion, keep the case safe. That was it. It went wrong, I was captured. They want to know things, odd questions. They think I'm not human… I'm inclined to believe them. I don't know where the case is, but I'm alive, so it must be fine. For 45 days, my life has been the interrogation room or the lab, nothing else.

My name is Ark Thompson and I am him.

* * *

They had switched up tactics. Usually, they enjoyed the electrocution method mixed in with some sort of fire or ice torture. My best guess was that they were using a _very_ mild version of incinerate and cryo blast for the former, but the electricity was still in question. I had very little time to think, they were overly fond of drugging me to sleep. Until now.

They were depriving me of sleep this time. It must have been three days at least since I had actually slept, drugs or not. Every time sleep would come, the buzzing would start. The buzzing alone was become enough at this point, but if it was not, a (comparatively) minor shock was administered.

I was insane. This I knew, for on the second day I heard voices. Ford, the annoying little bastard, had come first. He blabbered on and on about wanting to go home. Like he knew what home was, the idiot.

601 came soon after and I enjoyed his company infinitely more. He was rather like… me. Considering that he was a hallucination from my mind, that fact was not entirely unexpected. What truly endeared me to him, however, was the fact he had answers about the bandages.

In my rare moments of sanity and in between sessions of drugs/pain, I had noticed various bandages were over my body. 601 seemed to think that, since I was an alien, my captors were attempting to understand my biology. To do this, I guess they needed to get a look at my… insides. That realization caused at least two panic attacks, but I was past that now. I just didn't think about. Yep, I don't think about it.

The voices were gone now. Which was good, less voices equals less insanity. I think. But I was hurting again. Three days without sleep just hurts. My eyes felt horrible, my muscles screamed at any motion, and my headache was just… consuming. I just wanted sleep, please, that was all I wanted. The worst part was my vision. My eyes were open, but I didn't see. Just smoke and clouds, binding me to the present. I wanted sleep.

"Well, well. Are you ready to cooperate Prisoner 24601? The level of pain you are about to experience is totally dependent on you." Prisoner 24601? I'm not Prisoner 24601, my name is… damn. I am both Prisoner 24601 and Ark Thompson. Got to keep it together man, hang on.

The being shifted like a shadow in my vision. "Tell me, what is in the case?" My blood ran cold at the mention of that damn case. It was my mission, the contents of that case were crucial to my fate. The stakes were high now, I couldn't let anything slip.

"Case? What case?" My addled mind raced to find an excuse as my body wound itself tightly, preparing for the pain. It didn't come. Every time a word passed my month that wasn't an answer, I had been shocked. This time I wasn't, which was a problem, they were on to me.

"The case you so carefully had hidden within the walls of Admiral Hackett's apartment. While we are discussing the case, I feel it prudent to ask you about the OSD as well. We had quiet the hard time grabbing it from Miss Shepard you know." An uncharacteristic flare of anger traveled through me and I lashed out against the shadow, despite my restraints. The fact that he jumped away only amplified my rage.

"If you touched her, you scum, I'll fucking…" A faint buzz cut me off as the electricity started to flow. My threat was turned into a scream as the pain felt even more intent due to may lack of sleep. I thought I smelled burning flesh, which was probably my own. By the time it stopped, my threat had been sufficiently forgotten.

"Now, now Prisoner 24601. You need to learn your place. Unfortunately for Miss Shepard; however, nobody will ever be touching her again."

"What are you talking about, lunatic."

"Miss Shepard suffered a… unfortunate incident a week after your capture. She's dead."

She's dead. She is dead? Who's she? Sure as hell can't be Commander Shepard. You even seen footage of Mass Effect and you know that. A small giggle formed in my throat, and it grew and grew. Soon, I was laughing with such abandon that all I could hear was my own laughter, so much so that Ford joined in. Kill? Shepard? Dear god, this guy was an idiot. He had no clue, what a chump.

Then I got shocked again, bastard. Problem was, it didn't stop. The shocking went on for what must have been hours. My noise began to bleed and it still didn't stop. Then my vision started to funnel and it still didn't stop. Prisoners 24601 started talking hysterically, something about stopping the pain, it still didn't stop. Then he punched me. I was dimly aware that the shocking stopped but the punching, the pain, the lack of sleep, and the voices culminated in pure anguish.

I just wanted to die. So much.

"Scrtator, stop!" his voice cut through the darkness like a touch, ending the punching. I had stopped felling the pain and only knew because the constant pressure to my face had stopped.

"Sir, he is almost ready to talk."

I heard the distinctive sound of a punch and then a body hit the ground. "Leave us… NOW!" Something scurried away and I thought I saw a brief light when a door opened and closed.

Then I felt a hand lift me from the table. It gently turned my face, seemingly assessing the damage. His hands were callous, but they were all I had right now, the only true hint of compassion in the entire world of my existence. I almost worshipped them.

"Who is your handler?"

There was no hesitation when I answer the man who had captured me and tortured me, simply because he was the only kindness in a sea of evil.

"Michael." The hand fell away almost as fast as it had come, leaving me to lower it painfully to the table. I missed it immediately.

"Michael. He is a good one, despite his crimes. Do not doubt him. It is a shame you will never see him again."

"What happens now?" I asked as the darkness started to overtake me.

"Now, you become mine." And the darkness washed away it all.

* * *

When I awoke again, I felt the changes rather than saw them. No chains. It felt like years since I wasn't bound in some way. Also, no drugs, my mind was far too clear.

That was a bad thing. The last time my mind was this clear was when I had been granted no sleep for several days, allowing the drugs out of my system. I opened my eyes to find… nothing.

I was fully clothed, sitting on a cot in the middle of an empty room. Oddly enough, I was wearing boots. I never wore boots; as I was more of a running shoe guy myself, so that totally blew my mind. Why was it mind blowing that I was wear boots and not mind blowing that I was being tortured in the Mass Effect universe?

"Blame the drugs." I whispered to myself. Don't listen to voices in my head, and blame the drugs. A sound strategy.

"Voice detected, welcome Prisoner 24601." A green light sprang from a panel close to my bed, showing a holographic projection of that pin the technician was wearing. Odd, it seemed much less sinister when added to a feminine computer voice.

"Who are you?" Then I flinched, waiting for the buzz. I was always electrocuted when I asked questions. The symbol just rambled on.

"I am A.I. assistant designation 481-515-234-2, created by director Dracul to assist Prisoner 24601 in…." I stopped listening after that. Dracul, that was his name. Dracul… the man I was destined to kill. Every shred of honor and justice I could think of demanded I would have to kill him. Media demand I kill him. And… I wanted too. I had been ripped from my home (twice), sleep deprived, threatened and tortured. The majority of that was his fault.

The goddamn problem was, I wasn't a killer. I had never killed a person, anywhere at any time. How could I kill the guy with no training, the wrong state of mind, and no weapon? People don't just wake up a say they will kill someone, not normal people. I needed great emotional distress, which I might have, but it was dull.

I could be experiencing some mild Stockholm syndrome, it was only logical. He stopped the beatings, so I owed him… somehow.

"Goddamit." Why can't my emotions be simple?

"'Goddamit' is not a valid search query 24601, what is the meaning of 'Goddamit.'"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Goddamit is a curse. You use it to imply negative connotations to a person or event."

"'Goddamit' logged. Thank you prisoner 24601." I wasn't prisoner 24501, I was Ark Thompson. No we were the same… were we? One was from Colorado and enjoyed watching comedies; the other lived in the Mass Effect universe and was an alien. The same, yet different… What the hell was I just thinking?

"Please call me Ark, and I shall call you Twos in exchange." I really was not going to list of numbers to talk to the (illegal) AI, even though its purpose was likely to spy on me for Dracul. Just because it would stab me in the back was not an excuse to be rude.

"Analyzing… changes commenced. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ark. Warning: Training about to commence in 70 seconds." The previously green symbol turned blood red and the dim lighting that illuminated my ten by ten featureless room had gone into what appeared to be an emergency setting. The red glow was ominous, it frightened me. I didn't want another… session.

"Uggh… Twos, what's going on?"

"Prisoner 24601, step forward." Two lights that looked speciously like feet had lit up on the floor, beckoning me. I rose unsteadily from my seat and took a step forward onto the lights, my new boots booming heavily. It felt wrong to give in, do what I was told, but they had broken me. I feared the pain.

"30 seconds to combat trial. Please, pick up the weapon."

"What weapon?" I asked stupidly as the floor before me started to raise, Arthurian legend style. The pentagon rose up to my chest and slowly folded back to revel… a blade. If this was a stereotype land, it would be an awesome katana that glowed purple or something. As I picked it up with shaky hands; however, it seemed to be a simple machete, with one side serrated and a simple wooden handle.

It was well past a foot and one half long and had the triangle/circle emblem that Twos was showing burned into the medal over the top of the handle. I swung it a few times, meeting a reassuring swoosh each time. Why were they giving me a weapon?

"Training simulation beginning… Good Luck, Ark." Then all the lights shut off. For a single perfect moment, all there was darkness and me breathing. Then, a panel slide down to revile a pure whiteness the blinded me.

With no other options, I walked into the light.

* * *

**And introducing something you have never ever seen in an SI fic... an AI! **

**[sigh]**

**I guess I have just become too attached to clichés , so an AI had to come I suppose. Also, the split personality thing can be as big or as little as it needs to be, I suppose. I would really appreciate your thoughts at it.**

**Questions:**

CigarChomper: **Thank you for the review, my friend. On the detail, I think it might be best to expand upon that in my mind. On the power, I had one rule going into this fic. Avoid the Mary Sue at all cost. I guess I failed, the pistol thing was a total mistake. I shall strive to fix it. Once again, thank you for your guidance.**

**That's all for this time. Thank you very much for reading.**

**Have a good one.**


	9. Operation: Spartan Trials

_Operation: Spartans Trials_

_Location: [Combat Center, Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: __[Unknown]_

During the explosion of DLC in the late 2000's, EA was determined not to be lost in the struggle. They quickly took their award winning game, Mass Effect 1, and attached two major DLC packs to it. Bring Down the Sky was well received and expanded upon the Batarian's, a previously obscure group in the franchise.

The other DLC pack was a huge failure, to put it lightly. Pinnacle Station only had 4 hours of new gameplay, which used recycle environments to shoehorn players into some pseudo-multiplayer modes that only served to highlight the faults of Mass Effects gameplay. The in-game justification for this was a virtual reality simulator that was used to keep the various special force of the galaxy in top shape, a concept later to be reused in the Mass Effect 3 Citadel DLC, with the Armax Arsenal Arena.

But why do I care about this as I blink away the light that blinded me, a machete resting uneasily in my hand. The answer is quiet simple; I was in one of these chambers. A cityscape literally rose from the ground in front of me, skyscrapers souring high into the sky and the darkness of the city engulfing me. A dull gray sky had materialized above me, greyed by smog and cloud. They even had associated garbage on the ground and graffiti on the walls. But it was empty, not one person could be seen on the streets.

"Ark, this is Twos, I will be your guidance for this mission." The unseen voice caused me to jump slightly, bring my blade up in front of me in some pathetic attempt at a defensive stance. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, but the tone was defiantly Twos.

"Your mission is to find and kill the Tenth Street Reds leader three blocks west of this location, avoiding attention and returning to this point within one hour. You are starting now, Good Luck." As the echo of her voice faded, shapes began to appear on the sidewalk. I stood entranced, as they formed perfect replicas of people. A store owner manned a formally empty shack, selling datapads. A mother and young child pushed through the crowd as they went about their business. Skycars appeared overhead, forming lanes of traffic that snaked through the sky… it was very beautiful, in a way.

"KID, hey Kid!" I turned to revel a cop charging me with a hand very firmly on his handgun. I froze like a deer in a headlight, allowing the cop to easily catch up to me. He stopped a couple feet away, hand cautiously on his pistol.

"Son, you better explain why you are walking down the middle of the street with a giant knife right now!" Ohhh, that makes since I suppose. If I saw a guy with a giant knife in the middle of Main Street, I would be cautious too. These simulations must have good AI.

"I… My father is a butcher a few blocks west of here."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "There hasn't been a butcher in this area in a long time, kid." The pistol was fully out now. "I want you to put the knife on the ground and step away from it, now."

I took one look to the right, and then bolted left into the crowds on the side walk. As I tried to push past the projections that certainly felt real, I strained to keep the machete angled so it wouldn't hit myself or the (fake) bystanders in my mad rush. I awkwardly dodged a fist directed at my head from a heroic businessman, but I still felt it brush against my head. Seeing a dark spot to the side of the crowd, I leapt into the alley and tumbled into a trash heap.

Thank god it certainly didn't smell like it looked.

Releasing a sigh of relief, I stood up, dusting myself off and attempting to regain my lost sense of direction. The sun was to my left or at least the ambient glow of it was, hidden by buildings and clouds. Jogging slightly, I stuffed the machete into my belt loop to avoid notice as I enter the other side of the street.

As inconspicuously as I could, I 'sauntered' down the street. With a machete. In 2169. Yea, I really had no idea what I was doing, but the fact I was doing something was sufficient enough for me. I did notice that at least three people gave me odd looks, than ran to the other side of the walkway. The feeling of alienation was very unpleasant.

I did manage to shake that feeling away when stopped in front a four story apartment building that just screamed 'drug den'. The graffiti on the wall and a man wearing a red bandana over his face gave me a fairly clear idea that this was what my objective.

Time to go to work.

Puffing my chest out, I marched confidently past the guard and was about halfway through the doorframe when it all fell apart. The thug grabbed the back of my shirt and threw me onto the ground. The primal urge to get back onto my feet took over and I had lifted myself on all fours, which simply gave the thug a very good opportunity to kick me in the stomach. I collapsed, gasping in an attempt to get air back into my lungs.

"Are you retarded or something? Seriously, only Reds can enter this building you stupid fuck. Get out of my sight before I waste you."

Well, I had the right building, at the very least. It was time to play my only trump card. I mentally blocked the pain and ripped the machete from its hiding place. Two strong steps was all it took before I thrust the blade into the throat of my opponent.

It felt surprisingly… good. The hologram's eyes were all I saw as it made some surprisingly lifelike whimpers and gurgles. But the eyes, ohhh, the eyes. The eyes that were so cold and steely just a second before were now so weak, flashing with fear and confusion. I watched as the hologram slowly derezed into nothingness, the eyes burned into my memory.

I shook my head roughly. I had no time for this. I walked into the building, observing the futuristic but decaying surroundings. There were only two rooms on the first floor, what appeared to be a reception desk and an employee break room. There was a staircase the beckoned me, problem was two gangsters guarded its steps. They appeared oblivious to their friend's demise.

So I took a clue from virtually every video game and movie ever. I picked up a beer bottle and threw it into the employee break room. Unlike every video game ever, the two goons simply ignored it. I frowned, that was literally my only plan. Grabbing a rather large rock this time, I chucked it onto the reception table, smiling at the very large ping it made.

The two guards did move, grabbing an assault rifle and shotgun respectively from their resting places and approached the table. That was my cue to tango. I crouched and walked the few feet to the stairs with admirable silence. I took three steps up with the utmost care and was feeling very confident when reality threw me a curve once again.

I got shot.

True, being as that it was a simulation, I wasn't dead when I felt the four mass accelerated rounds hit me in the back. But it wasn't like I was getting a massage either. I lurched forward, nearly skewering myself with my own machete when I ate a face full of wooden stair. Mustering my strength, I rolled to the right just in time to avoid a burst from the assault rifle.

Slashing widely, I managed to cuff the shotgun wielding goon in the side of the face, making him screech loudly as he brought his hands up to his face in pain. Knowing I needed to move, I pushed forward and jabbed the machete down into the area between the neck and shoulder blade of my assault rifle loving opponent. He dropped like a stone.

I had no time to enjoy my victor as I received a shotgun blast to the stomach. I managed to maintain my footing as I stumbled back from the force of the shells. My back hitting a wall, I turned and ran into the break room, seeking cover from the onslaught. Stupidly, my opponent followed me. I grabbed the tip of his weapon and managed to twist it away from me before I took another shot.

The bastard hologram still tried to punch me, but I leaned back and dogged the blow. With him over extended, I maneuvered my blade into his gut and stabbed up under his ribcage. Needless to say, he was departed. I allowed myself to collapse slightly onto the wall, trying to ignore the dull throbs that were surely going to welt by tomorrow. Curiously, however, the shotgun did not despond like the two other weapons I had encountered.

I had never handled a shotgun before, so I quickly looked over the weapon. It certainly didn't look like the ones in game, but my guess was it was some sort of a civilian model, which explains why a gang had access to them. The trigger was a bit hard to find, but when I did, it modeled to my hands easily.

"FIND HIM!" a large thumping that could only be someone running down a flight of stairs echo through the building. Hefting myself up, I pointed the barrel of my new acquisition in the general direction of the stairs, while attempting to use the wall as cover.

The moment a flash of red jumped down, I pulled the trigger. True to the luck I was having so far, I nearly knocked myself on my ass due to the recoil, but I did hit the gangster with the shot. Compensating slightly, I fired a second shot, destroying him due to his lack of shielding.

Remembering my mission, I reattached my blade to my belt loop and quickly advanced up the stairs. Finding nothing on the second floor, I moved on to the third. I had to dodge behind an overturned desk when some joker tried to shoot me with his handgun. I stood up and fired a quick shot, which totally missed, but did drive the guy behind the corner.

Wanting to keep him down, I stood and continued to fire at the wall as I slowly approached him. That strategy was working well, but I forgot one of the main rules of mass effect, overheating. The annoying little beeping broadcasted the fact to me and everyone else. Throwing the gun to the side, I had just enough time get my pseudo sword into position when the guy leaned out of cover.

With his body still hidden, I chopped and removed his arm. He fell back screaming in pain, and I ended it with a slice to his face.

"Damn" my gun had derezed. Gripping my weapon tightly, I advance up the final staircase to confront my target. The last floor had four rooms which he could be hiding in, all very small apartments. I quickly opened the first door on the left, finding no signs of life. The first door on the right was completely void of any and all furnishings.

I approached the second door on the left cautiously. It was already open, and a soft light was pouring through it into the hallway. Remembering my time limit, I rushed into meet… nothing? A bed, small dresser and bathroom were all that meet me.

I was half turned when a boot hit me squarely on the hip and sent me spinning over the bed. I recovered as quickly as I could, dropping into a crouch on the opposite side of the bed as my opponent. Figuring that if he had to kick me he couldn't be armed, I leaped up and rushed him.

"Shit" I murdered under my breath. There, dangling from his arm was a fully formed omini-blade. How? Dear god, I thought they didn't even exist until the third game, and that was a long time from now.

"You're going to die now, Prisoner 24601!" His voice reminded me of the technicians far too much for my likening. Battling the shivers that seemed to inhabit my body, we started to circle each other like heavy weight boxers. I moved first.

Reversing the grip on the machete on instinct, I swung at his neck. With his free hand, he batted my arm down and raised the omni-tool to stab me. Attempting to mirror him, I blocked his wrist with my left hand and brought my right up, pushing his blade down and away with my face. Seeing an opening, I grabbed his omni-tooled hand (his right one) with my left and brought my knife downwards; seeking to stab him similarly to the assault rifle wielding foe I had killed down stairs.

He saw it coming, and with great ease he grabbed my right arm, and used his strength to pull it down, awkwardly pining my arms in a weird entanglement. Trapped, I could only watch as he brought the omni-tool to my elbow, causing me to drop the knife when the VERY real blade burned my skin. Sensing an opening, he pushed the machete away, sending it skittering under the bed. I tried to grab his sword hand, but his fist zoomed to meet my face with a prefect punch. Thoroughly disorganized, my opponent deactivated his omni-tool and threw me into the dresser. It collapsed under my weight.

"I hope you understand this is nothing personal," the inky voice of the man I was sure the technician said. "But I kill all my subjects, even the alien ones."

That settles it. It was the technician. The man who had made my life a living hell for a good two months and had broken me. I saw red.

Pushing myself up, I launched at him, consumed by my rage. He simply reactivated his omni-blade with a flick of the wrist and thrust it at me. But my rage didn't blind me this time, it focused me. I grabbed his arm with my left hand and immobilized his wrist with my right, preventing him from deactivating the omni-blade. Pushing with all my might, I slowed pressed the blade to his neck, where his eyes finally dissolved into the terror that I desired to see from them.

I basked in the feeling for just a second, before I ended him.

I reared my head back and hit him square in the face like that barbarian I was, causing him to reel back from the head-butt. My rage blocking all feeling, I twisted his arm so that the blade affixed to it sliced into his neck, cutting his head clean off. Fully taken from the insanity within me, I let go of his hands and kicked his body, before it had a chance to fall. It flipped onto the bed and lied still.

I hit the ground at the same time his head did, his lifeless eyes staring into me as I collapsed from exhaustion. I don't know how long I stayed there, simply staring into the eyes of the first man I killed. I think I threw up, but my mind was far away from reality by this point.

I was dimly aware that I finally moved, reaching under the bed for the machete before heading down the stairs of the gang headquarters. I somehow got the very real blood off the machete handle before hiding it within the folds of a jacket that seemed to have materialized from somewhere.

I didn't see when I returned to the extraction point, or notice the virtual city evaporate around me. I marched quietly into my small living quarters, find a door to a bathroom that wasn't there before. I do remember staring into a mirror, into my eyes.

The eyes of a killer. The eyes of a murder. The eyes of a monster.

My eyes.

* * *

**This was a fun chapter to write, thinking up the fight choreography was exhausting in and of itself. I had to literally act out some scenes before I could write it properly. Did you guys manage to follow it? I hope so.**

**Questions:**

**Doombug: Thanks for the Review! Although I am really sad to see you go, I will still take it as an absolute complement that you read 8 chapters before doing so!**

**Michae1ange1o: Thanks for the Review! Hmmm… that is an angle I had not considered I suppose. I totally agree with you on the hidden talents part and shall attempt to expand upon that within the story!**

**Thank you all for reading! Have a good day!**


	10. Operation: Gloomy Hope

_Operation: Gloomy Hope_

_Location: [Living Quarters, Unknown]_

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

_Time: __[Unknown]_

The chamber was dark, unnaturally so. The silence was oppressive and it weighed upon me like a stone that I could not move. I couldn't understand the complexity of it. I only knew that I had to move. The stone dug into my back and my feet grafted to the floor as I pulled with all my weight, finding no result.

"What do you think you're doing?"

It was him, the man. The first man I killed and the first man who had killed me. He was there behind me in the shadows, doing his duty still, past his death.

"Do you really think you have what it takes? People like you are cheap, worthless. You'll live your pathetic little life without a spark of importance, helping nothing and changing no one."

He was in front of me now, obscured by the pain and shadows that my life had become. I opened my mouth to stop him, to refute his horrible truths. Nothing came out, and I stood there as the dumb, mute idiot that I was.

"You think you have what it takes to survive the coming times? Days that will break the strongest of heroes? No, you will beg for death before your time comes. It's simply what pieces of scum such as you do and have done since the beginning of time. To never be remember and to be forgotten from the books of history, a fate they deserve."

The liquid rose steadily from the ground, coating my knees then waist in a sticky past. It was at my neck before I realized it was blood, metallic and warm as it seeped into my throat. I wanted to throw up, to swim to the surface but I was frozen.

"It's a mercy I will not even let you see that fate, murder."

* * *

I jolted up from my cot, coughing horrendously as I tried desperately to get the blood out. It was in my lungs, on my skin, drowning me. I scratch at my throat, desperate to get it off. I rolled, trying to get out of the putrid liquid. I hit the ground with a thud, knocking what little air I had out of my lungs.

I was running out of time, my vision clouding as I tried to get the blood out of my lungs. I was still in the lake of blood, I had to be, but with no time left I opened my month to breathe in… air? Air. I gasped it down like a starving man in the desert; feeling my muscles relax and the horrible pain in my lungs desist. I laid my head on the cool metal floor, desperately trying to chase the dream away.

"Ark, do you need medical assistance?" The all too cheery voice of the AI spy was upon me. Her, I guess 'it' technically, was designed to assist in my training. Training was apparently a very broad term: so far, she has monitored my calorie intake, energy output, accuracy rating, and hours sleeping. My mother wasn't as attentive.

Mother. I missed her. Terribly. I suppose I was mental prepared for a long time away from her, as I had been accepted to a college on the opposite coast. But not the sudden and complete absence that permeated a transition to a new universe. For all intent and purposes, she was… dead. That was a very hard pill to swallow. I usually managed to push the empty void away, but now, as I sat in alone in a facility where I HAD MURDERED A HUMAN BEING, the darkness crept in.

"Ark, please answer the question."

I huffed at the insistent mother hen. "I don't need medical assistance, Twos."

"Ark, if you are fine, why do you cry in your sleep? Our files indicate crying is a response to pain."

I winced. Pain…that was something I had become familiar with. My hands still shook from the memory of it, leading me to believe I had develop some form of nerve damage from close to 50 days of physical torment. It was a constant of my life now, and my once steady aim I had boasted was gone. I was forced to relearn how to handle a firearm, the shaking was so intense.

But Twos was not asking about cuts or bruises, she was asking about something deeper. The thing that made human's human, the soul. Something that was… taken from me, but the tatters of it continued to cling like the stench of blood that still reeked from my hands.

I exhaled slowly. "It is because I am in pain."

"I shall summon the medical team Ark."

"NO! No, please, just no more doctor. I can't… face them." These doctors were the ones who cut me up and poked me to see what I was; I couldn't face something with that kind of power. "It is… not physical pain."

"My databanks lack a suitable explanation for the pain you describe, please elaborate." Oh God. I finally removed myself from the act of staring at the floor, standing and moving to my workbench. It had been installed when I was in yet another simulation (without the revelation of a living person at the end) and it signified my only contact with a sentient non-computer based being I had encountered since my last conversation with Director Dracul.

On it sat my machete. It was a curious thing. Every other time I had been given a weapon, it appeared from a vending machine like system that placed the weapon neatly and quietly upon the workbench. Once done, Twos would make me place the weapon on the bench and it would cycle out. But the machete never left. I practiced with it constantly; it was sometimes the only thing to do for hours on end.

I twirled it confidently. I found that having the machete was a constant, and focusing on the constants was something that had always helped me think in my previous life.

"Imagine for a moment, or simulate in your case, two directives. Being shackled, you have to follow both. One directive is to never kill another person. The second is to protect yourself at all costs. One day, you kill someone, someone who was attacking you. Simultaneously, you have both failed and succeeded. How are you supposed to react in relation to your overall purpose, which was the success of both directives?"

Did that make any since? It was the best I could do; I am basically trying to explain morality to a computer. And that was just the psychological issue of killing the technician, not the explanation for the crying for my missing friends and family. That was another situation entirely.

"I have… no conclusion available. We will divert extra processing data to the question when convenient." I frowned. I was actually hoping for an answer, even if I was wrong in killing that man. I was basically swimming in a sea of self-contradictory ideas, with origins ranging from religion to society. I _needed_ to know if what I did was right or wrong.

I needed to.

"Ark, shut up. This is the real world, there are no absolutes anymore. Yep, this is the real world, not a video game… not a video game." I found myself repeating that sentence more and more these days. I needed a distraction.

Picking up the machete, I walked over to the panel that hid the simulation chamber, waiting for it to open. There was some hidden system that determined the weapon I was carrying, and would set up a simulation to test those abilities. Getting shot with pellets was a very good distraction, plus I would fulfill my quota.

The stupid quota. I had to fulfill a number of simulations at any given time or what few liberties I had were taken. This included, but was not limited to, sleeping time. However, they still enjoyed the shook therapy more than that.

"Loading simulation. Good luck Prisoner 24601." The door opened, reviling a tropical setting. Several paramilitaries in stereotypical black armor milled about between the palm trees and huts, wielding assault rifles and the like.

I sighed. I was going to kill something soon, why did I have to kill something. I was… enjoying it. Oh, don't get me wrong, the self-hatred of breaking nearly every moral code was present. But when I killed something it… felt like winning. Like I was finally accomplishing something with my life. And that was scary.

But what choice did I have?

* * *

"Ark, wake up."

Something was different. I might have been mistaken, but Twos seemed to have… tone. Robots don't have tones. It almost felt like she was conspiring, but again, an AI doesn't conspire.

"Ark, please wake up." Groaning, I rolled up to my sitting position. Usually, once the 'p' word was used, shocks were soon to follow. It was part of the weird relationship I had with the AI. My best guess was that she (it) had two directives; keep me operating at peak capacity and to get my peak capacity higher. This lead to the awkward position when she had to shock me to train me 'properly', yet also keep in the best health possible.

Banishing my internal musings, I sleepily walked to the worktable. Once again, something was wrong. Only the knife sat on grease covered space, contrary to my normal morning routine of operating a rifle of some kind. I gripped the machete, basking in the comfort a weapon provided. What happened next surprised me.

The workstation rotated to reveal a terminal. Not just a terminal, but a terminal with a display that clearly showed it had extranet connection. My mind froze. You don't give sub-human (really non-human apparently) test subjects access to information stores while you're testing on them!

"Seriously? This is obviously a trap Twos."

"Ark, one of my objectives is to ensure you are operating at your best. Although your species has the unique ability to seemingly disrupt any medical scans know to science, my database has access to many advanced medical records. Your actions are correlating to early stages of depression combined with minor displays of moral insanity."

I looked up sharply. "I AM NOT INSANE! This is real." I cannot have my sanity questioned; I had shattered my psych in that torture chamber to preserve it.

"I know Ark. That is why you are going to push the button on the terminal." I sighed. Taking a deep breath and a leap of faith, I reached forward with my shaky hand and pushed the button.

And it ringed. Like a Skype call back home, it rang. My arm dropped down and I simply stared at the odd display going on in front of me. I was making a phone call?

"WHOEVER THIS IS BETTER HAVE A GOOD FUCKING REASON FOR CALLING ME AT 3 IN THE DAMN MORNING!"

A broad smile spread across my face, I could recognize that tone anywhere.

"And here I was thinking we were friends. It's nice to hear from you too Red."

I would be lying if I didn't find a little bit of pleasure from the gasp that echo through the call. Friends were… good friends were rare. I was once one of those kids who tried to walk alone, weary of others. However, you just have to step carefully in who you trust, because they can expand your life greatly.

My wonderful self-reflection on internal happiness where rudely interrupted when a banshee like scream erupted from the terminal. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU ARK! YOU LEAVE WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE, NOT EVEN ME YOUR BEST FRIEND, MOM WAS WORRIED SICK! THEN HACKETT WALKED IN, TOLD SOME BULLSHIT STORY ABOUT YOUR UNCLE FINDING YOU, THEN LEFT! WHY TO…" Fearing for my eardrums, I quickly hit the mute button.

"Is that… standard human female behavior?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Sometimes, when people worry about the safety of something important to them, the fear manifests as anger. That's what… Miss Shepard appears to be executing."

"Noted."

I reached to unmute the call, but paused, reviewing the conversation in my head. Looking up, I quickly verbalized my question. "So apparently, I'm in the care of my 'uncle?'"

"The cover conceived by Director Dracul revolved around your acquisition by your late mother's brother. This brother was a merchant who commonly left comm buoy networks, allowing the 30 Coins to operate on you without fear of any significant examining from either Admiral Hackett or Captain Shepard."

I nodded. I need to know if Meetra asked too many questions what vague answers I could give. The thought of asking her to help me escape was… not logical. It would put her in danger, something that I could not allow, neither on a personal sense or a 'good of the galaxy' sense. Plus, all evidence pointed to the organization (I guess there called the 30 Coins?) being an Alliance organization of some kind. All human staff, access to secret Alliance military bases and Alliance material, etc.

Shaking myself from my philosophical reflections, I pushed the mute button once again.

"…ARE YOU IGNORING ME NOW? ANSWER DAMMIT?" Jesus Christ, she was bossy. But endearing.

"Sorry Red. What were you asking, I couldn't hear over the sound of someone shouting."

I could imagine her trying not to smile at the other end of the call. "Well, look who grew a backbone. But seriously, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

"Jeez, Red. I'm guess I am somewhere in the Traverse, based on my extranet reception." The lie was… heavy. I was an okay liar I suppose, as nobody can make it through life without a little bit of that skill. Yet, this was my best friends, and my only one. If the situation was reversed, I would sure as hell want to know that she was in some militaristic death camp, but it wasn't.

Plus, in a couple of years, she would be savior of the galaxy. She deserved to be a kid a little longer.

I heard her hum thoughtfully. "Well, as far as excuses go, it's not terrible. BUT you should have called sooner!"

"And what? Ruin the surprise?"

I could _hear_ her shaking her head at me. "Dude, your surprises always suck. Plus, disappearing for… 9 fucking months does not count as a surprise, it is counts as heart attack. You're lucky me or Mom doesn't fly to where your sorry ass is and pick you up!"

I frowned. "First, language. Your 15 and not in the army, you have no good excuse to swear. Second, my surprises rock. You totally freaked out when I got you that model ship."

"I was freaking out because I was glowing blue! Your crappy gift had nothing to do with it. Also, I am like, 3 years older than you, you can't force me to do shit." I face palmed. Why must she always swear? Besides, I was like… 20 years old chronologically, I way out ranked her. As I open my mouth to say something very witty however, she cut me off.

"Ohhh… speaking of blue, did you hear? Mom is sending me off this station! I get to go to a military camp on Earth specifically for biotics and its…" For the next ten minutes, she talked in an amazingly high pitched, fast voice about a new military school based in England that specialized in Biotics, as I gave the necessary affirmations and questions when needed. She was quiet excited.

And I thought military schools were punishment.

A slight ping alerted me to the reality of being a lab rat once again. That ping served as my first wake-up call, I would get two more before I was shocked awake to begin my morning excesses. I sadly informed my friend that I had to go, using the excuse that my Uncle needed me.

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. " Well… Okay. You better call me in less than a week, Rook. Also, Mom is going to want to talk to you as well. You better call or I get in trouble. And any trouble I get into well be placed on you Rook."

"Well, I can't make promises, Red. But I will try, okay." The words came out far more bitter than intended.

"Hey, don't brood! It really doesn't fit your smug face!" and with that the line went dead. I leaned back just in time to hear the second ping as the terminal rotated out of my view. I exhaled and stood. My machete still in hand, I twirled it slowly as I approached the wall that would soon slide away to face the killing fields.

As the third ping range, I lifted my head to the green emblem that sat by my cot.

"Thank you, Twos."

"Of course, Ark."

And I ran forward into the training grounds, felling much better.

* * *

**Ahhhhh… What I wouldn't give for a decent skill at dialogue. Anyway, thank you for all the Reading , and waiting. I just… ran out of motivation, I suppose. Not really sure why, but it happened, and that's why this chapter took so long. **

**Also, I feel obligated to warn you. The Next chapter might destroy this story. The idea I'm mulling over could kill interest and make the story cliché. But hey, I haven't had an original thought yet, have I?**

**Questions:**

**Michae1ange1o: Thanks for the review! The trick seems to be making a powerful character that is fun to read but not too good or else he is boring. That's harder than I thought, to be honest. I 'discovered' the Western a year ago and sort of fell in love with them. My current favorite is the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, simply for the diversity of the characters and the moral ambiguity. **

**Guest: Thank you for the positive encouragement. That seems to be something I lack of late.**

**CigarChomper: Thanks for the Review! Sometimes, I specifically go into the bowels of fanfic sites looking for mary sues. It seems they ALL have katanas and are obsessed with purple. I couldn't help but go for something different, and I found the machete oddly… symbolic. **

**Thanks for Reading!**


	11. Operation: Tortured Apprentice

_Operation: Tortured Apprentice _

_Location: [Command Center, Classified]_

_Subject: Director Dracul, [Classified}_

_Time: 2169/ 14 years until the events of Eden Prime_

Satisfaction was not in his nature. It was a piety and vain emotion that had no place on the never ending battlefield raging within the hearts of all men. So Dracul did not bask in it, he instead passed it on as if it was an unwanted meal, giving it to his lackeys instead.

Today; however, it was more like a feast, and Dracul took pleasure in savoring every bit.

"I deserve this." He mumbled to himself as he uncorked a bottle of vintage Asari wine in the recently vacated command center, watching his prize through the various terminals that they used to monitor him. He was practicing once again, fighting with a holographic opponent, each only boasting a machete as they traded blows.

It was a wonderfully sight to watch, the two leaping and evading as they tried to out maneuver the other. He smiled to himself, remembering the last battle he had seen that measured up to his pupil's skill. Perhaps it was during one of the Punic Wars, before his master had recalled him? That incident brought a surge of anger to his system, but he squashed it quickly with a soothing sip of his wine. This was a time to revel in his accomplishments, not sulk on incidents outside his control.

Ahhh, the accomplishments. When the master had approached him and order him to interfere with the opposing forces operations, his heart had soared. Any opportunity to settle his feud with the blood traitors was welcome; perhaps he would even kill Michael this time. The fact that the theater of war was inside a fictional work only added to the allure, the challenge.

So he didn't hesitate when he popped out into Chicago, disappearing into the seedy underbelly of the Earth, which was not all that different from the one the real world boasted. He worked his way into an organization that called themselves Cerberus, rising through the ranks as he proved his innate superiority over the humans. The fact that all his medical test came back totally corrupted was handled through a bribe or four.

It really wasn't that hard to find the child with the resources Cerberus granted him, almost alarmingly so. The blood traitors seemed to hold to the belief that Draculs people would play by their arbitrary rules. They were wrong, of course. It was almost insultingly easy to manipulate the nationalism of Jack Harper, the so called Illusive Man, into giving him the resources necessary to capture his subject.

There were compromises, however. The 40 Coins still operated under Cerberus authority, as much as it pained Dracul to admit it, and thus was subject to Harper's insane whims. He first wanted to cut the child, his new brethren, open like a barbarian. It took two months before he had managed to convince Harper otherwise.

"The insect." He scoffed. The child had nearly died on the operating table several times, the combination of surgery and… 'persuasion' taking their toll. The pain had worked their magic on the former mortal despite this, reviling that Michael was indeed involved. To say he was shocked would not have been a great understatement, but I did open up a new line of questioning.

"What is your mission, my little friend?" He asked himself as he leaned closer to the screen. The fact that Michael, a top lieutenant, was here meant that the opposition had significant interest in the events happening in this fictional world. The boy was the catalyst of these events, thus he deserved to be watched closely.

And that was why he was here, buried under tons of earth on a barren planet the humans had recently discovered. Harper, the fool, just wanted combat data for his other projects, namely Project Phoenix. If that idiot realized the value of subject he had here… Cerberus would rule the humans, not serve them.

He truly believed that. The child was one of his brethren after all, and his people were… terrifying. Regardless of if they were blood traders or not, they had leveled worlds with ease.

And the child was one.

With that knowledge firmly in hand, the creature known as Director Dracul finished his wine. He leaned over, pressing a seemingly inconspicuous button that connected all the speakers of the hidden base to its command center. "Fireteams India and Oscar, report to the 'guest house' in twenty minutes. Be prepared for front line combat duty."

Two fireteams, with four fighters each, made a total of eight men. And these fighters were well armed, well trained, and well rested. He smiled as he rose from his chair, pausing only to push a few buttons on one of the many terminals, before stalking out of the room.

It would be a good fight.

_Subject: Ark Thompson/ James Ford(?)/Prisoner 24601_

Despite the fact there was a very real possibility that I could be cut into several tiny piece in less than a second, I was happy.

I pondered this odd contradiction as I allowed my opponent to thrust his knife forward, leaving him entirely exposed as I dodged to the left and grabbed his extended arm. Perhaps it was my food? Could there be anti-depressants add to the dull gray paste? As I kneed my opponent in the gut repeatedly, I decided against it. There would have been some taste. With my opponent out of breath, I flipped him away from me and he rolled away before I could capitalize.

With him getting to his feet, knife now in a reverse grip, we began circling. Perhaps I was happy because I had gotten more sleep than usual? That always made me happy back hom… in the real world. That thought was banished quickly; I was always working on a very tight schedule in this world. The fact you would get shocked if you took more than three minutes before doing what you were supposed to be doing helped that. Then inspiration came.

"THAT'S IT!" I yelled just as my opponent charged me. I shot my arm out, catching his wrist and stopping his knife cold. The expression on his face was priceless as I shoved my machete into his stomach. There was not blood, of course, he was only a hologram. But he died/derezed all the same.

As I marched back to my cell, I pondered my epiphany. I was happy because I had a normal, decent conversation with someone I had enjoyed talking to, that person being Meetra. To some, that might have not been that big a deal, but to me it was everything. I had lost all my friends through various circumstances in my late middle school years, and thus had approached high school alone and unsocial. I did the stereotypical 'sit alone at lunch' thing for two straight years, which didn't earn any friends, and was painfully shy.

So I you could say I was fucking pleased with myself when I managed to scrap up any charisma and put it to use. Making a mental note to thank Twos once again, I turned into the small container that had become my home. I was about half-way to my cot when I stopped dead, my mouth dropping.

The wall that held my gun/terminal vending machine had rolled aside like a vault door, leaving me unimpeded access to… guns. Lots and lots of guns. I mean, this thing was an armory, with racks of weapons piled in military precision. I stepped in cautiously.

With a screech of medal, the wall slide into place behind me, sealing me in the gun room. I just sighed. Time to roll with the punches I suppose. Five minutes later, I had seen several guns that had caught my attention and he found that all the guns appeared to be in fine working order. The best haul however was much more mundane.

Pushed against the far wall were several dull, grey military cabinets. Initially uninteresting, I opened them up to reveal… clothing! A welcome change from the same, bring white jumpsuits I had been wearing, I rifled through the cloths and found some things decidedly non-standard.

A skin tight shirt with what looked like some sort of in-sewn Kevlar went on first, followed my some very heavy cloth pants that I had no doubt would stop a knife. A belt help hold that up, and I found two pistol holsters that strapped on to my upper legs easily enough, as well as a vertical shoulder holder that just screamed 'private eye'. What really caught my eye though was a black long coat that covered my exposed arms and definitely had some sort of bullet damping plates built into it.

Another belt, this one with a wide variety of pouches, and a baldric for the machete finished the garb. Oddly enough, there were no head coverings, but I figured that if I was shot in the head a helmet would do nothing anyway.

Now that I had holsters, I felt it was time to fill them. I had handled all these weapons at least twice during the… 10 months? One year? The significant portion of time I had been stuck here I used these weapons extensively, so I had a few favorites. Two Razer pistols went into the thigh holsters and two M-4 Shurikens in the shoulder holder fit perfectly.

The reason for two of each gun actually was twofold. First, due to the automatic cool down of weapons in this time period instead of thermal clips, you could spend six or seven seconds just standing there with no weapon if you over heated you gun. That's not acceptable. Secondly, if one of the guns used the metal block that supplied the actual rounds in its entirety, it would take around two minutes to dismantle the gun enough to replace it. In the middle of a battle, that wasn't exactly a positive.

"Now for the heavy stuff." I mused as I moved down an aisle of guns. I had the Shurikens, so rate of fire was not an issue, neither was a close range usability. I could either use a sniper rifle, which I hated, or a rifle. What I needed was a…

"There you are!" One M-96 Mattock attached to me back latter, and I was ready for combat. Oddly, there was nothing to fill the pouches on my utility belt, which was a pity. I would have welcomed some grenades.

"All dress up and…" the lights suddenly shut off, plunging me into darkness. "Nowhere to go."

My eyes adjusted very quickly to the darkness. I figured a year living in these dark metallic rooms had made my eyes much more observant or perhaps the fact I was an alien contributed to it. Regardless, I quickly found the only remaining light in the room.

It was a simple red button, unlabeled. One quick push latter and the bulkhead next to it folded aside, granting me entry into the… storage room? One quick sweep visual sweep revealed several large cargo containers of unknown content, several mechs with arms that would move the containers sitting idle, and 8 heavily armed combatants.

And one Director Dracul displaying the most demonic smile I had ever seen. I couldn't help a shiver going down my spine.

"Ahhh… You are looking well Brother." What the hell did that mean? "However, you seemed under equipped for this encounter. Let's address that." With an air of a noble man flicking a coin to a peasant, he threw a small, metal device to me.

I caught it instinctually, flinching slightly. When it didn't blow up, I took a closer look. It was about the size of a smart phone, with three switches adoring its front. One was labeled on/off, the other labeled high/low, and the final was simply labeled 'solution'. Ignoring the question of what the problem this was a solution too, I started defiantly at Dracul as I flicked the on button.

Instead of blowing up (it seems I expect that a lot), the blue taint that characterized Mass Effects shielding fizzled in front of me. So Dracul had given me a shield? It was… disconcerting. As I very carefully placed the generator in one of the pouches on my newly acquired belt, I reflected on that odd felling. One that made me feel like a five year olds pet cat, alternately waiting for food and to be thrown in a pool.

Needless to say, I had the food; the gun wielding goons would likely supply the water.

"And not even a thank you for my troubles? No matter, Brother, your performance today will be reward enough."

"What are you talking about?"

Another smile was flashed. "Fireteams, eliminate the prisoner."

Both groups reacted in an instant. I sprint left, diving behind a cargo container, but not before I was hit twice by automatic weapons fire. The shields took it like a champ. Forgoing the Mattock for the rapid fire capacity of the M-4, I leaned out and shot two quick bursts into a goon's chest. The second burst caused it to explode in an ugly puff of red.

I managed to ignore the feeling in my guts… for now.

But I needed to move. The seven professionals were now laying down almost constant fire on the container, and the metal was starting to melt under the strain. I was very much pinned down. Switching the M-4 for the pistol, I backed away from the edge of the container and sighted up. Sure enough, a heavily armored figured barreled around the corner at full sprit, likely expecting me to be running. Three confident pulls on the trigger and his head exploded.

"Tossing Flashbang!"

"Ohh shi…" 180 decibels of pure sound and light cut me off. Surprisingly, the light had no effect on me at all, but the sudden deafness almost caused me to fall on my behind. Pushing aside the 'why can I still see' questions for another time, I stumbled to my feet and ran backwards, hoping to put enough distance between the charging group of six opponents.

I managed to roll behind a mech just in time to avoid being surrounded by the very precise military tactics of the remaining goons.

"Where'd he go?"

"Quiet! Form a circle; I want everyone covering each other. There's no way the subject can get out!" Leaning out from cover as far as I dared, I observed my opponents. They had indeed formed a circle and were just waiting to blast whatever moved in the shadows of the warehouse. There was no way I could engage them and win, and I couldn't escape.

With only one option left, I took it. Praying that I wouldn't die horribly, I reached into my belt and carefully extracted the remote. With a deep breath, I flicked the switch labeled solution. And was plunged into darkness.

"HUD offline!" "Shields Downs!" "Where's the lights?" The panic of my opponents was uplifting and I allowed my eyes to adjust to the darkness. They did, very quickly. I could have sworn I heard Dracul laughing as I moved to away from the mech under the cover of darkness.

Not wanting to attract attention with the sound of gun fire, I pulled out my machete and charged ahead. One of the soldiers had stumbled away from the safety of the others, pivoting wildly due to the darkness induced blindness.

With two powerful steps, I launched forward. Aiming at the soft spot between the breastplate and helmet, I thrust the knife forward through his jugular. His vocal cords severed, he never had the chance to scream as he died.

Kicking the dead body away from me, I rolled away just as the loud clatter of the victim hit the ground. The results were instantaneous as the body was blown to bits by the combined power of five avenger assault rifles.

I managed to get in close and pull out a handgun before they noticed me. At such close range, the two shots I produced bypassed shields entirely and killed the two men instantly. With three opposing fighters left, I almost relaxed… almost.

"Biotics, contact rear!" With a flashing blue aura, one of the remaining goons turned and gestured upwards blindly. It was pure luck that it hit me, but it hit me all the same. The effects of having every single molecule in my body suddenly having zero mass was oddly similar to several roller coasters I had rode on in my previous life.

The fact that I was flouting upwards slowly, combined with the blue aura that covered me made for a sitting duck. It felt like forever, but it could only have been a few seconds as I felt my shields fail and the mass accelerated bullets ram into me. Oddly, I felt no pain, only the incredible feeling of pressure in the locations hit. Thank god for adrenaline.

By the time the punishment ended, and the lift wore off, I was barely conscious. I barely felt myself when I fell six feet to the hard cement and just laid there like a slug. With barely open eyes, I watched a pair of white boots came into my vision.

"Is it dead?"

A quick hit to my ribs produced lovely cracking sound that could only be a rib breaking. I somehow managed not to react.

"It's gotta be, we shot it at least 15 times."

"Make sure." I felt a barrel being pushed into my aching skull and froze. I was going to die? I couldn't die hell no. I just got here! With a primal scream, I rolled and grabbed the gun, dragging my opponent over me and onto the ground. With him now under me, I reared my fist back and punched him as hard as I could in the face.

What should have happened was one broken hand and one dead kid. Instead, a flare of light consumed my punch and when it connected, it shattered through the helmet like it was made of paper. But hell if I cared, I just kept fighting. With my feet under me, I swung at the Cerberus agent to my left, sending him off his feet and flying a backwards, into one of the cargo containers. Ignoring the sight of him sliding down the container, I spun and grabbed each corner of my last enemy's head before twisting… hard.

His neck snapped like a wishbone.

With one final scream, I tossed the body away. Standing there, shoot at least three times and with at least a rib broken, I managed to finally appreciate insanity. I was covered in mine and someone else blood, why would I not want to escape to the safety of my mind?

"What the hell are you?" The voice of the dying man brought back home. The one who I had thrown into the cargo container was helmetless now, looking at me with fear in his green eyes. He still had the freckles of youth on his face, and couldn't have been older than 25. Yet, here he was, a kill about to die for his cause.

I looked at the glowing light of my hands, watching as they slowly faded from view. Then, with the complete honest only shock can give, I looked up and said.

"Not a human."

"Something a lot better." Dracul chuckled out to my left; before a single bullet ripped the head of the child clean off.

"You did well, my brother. It will be… intriguing to see your progression." And then, I fell into the welcome embrace of darkness.

**Would you guys be willing to help me out for a second? I have a couple of questions for you**

**Do you know what's going on? As in, is the story line understandable?**

**Are the characters okay and constantly written? **

**Am I using too much detail or not enough?**

**Am I throwing to much information at you too fast? Do you feel overwhelmed?**

**Who would win, Batman or Spiderman?**

**If you don't want to answers, that's perfectly fine. I'm just ecstatic you read this far! I just want to make good content for you guys and this pseudo-survey seemed the easiest way. **

**Thanks for Reading!**


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